A PRUDENT DECISION
It had been dark some time and the night was raw, but Jim Crestwick
strolled up and down the drive to Marple's house, thinking unusually
hard. In the first place, part at least of the folly of his conduct
during the last year or two had been plainly brought home to him, and the
realization was bitter. It was galling to discover that while he had
regarded himself as a man of the world he had been systematically
victimized by the men who had encouraged him in the delusion. He felt
very sore as he remembered how much he owed Batley, but this troubled him
less than the downright abhorrence of Gladwyne which had suddenly
possessed him. He had looked up to the latter as a model and had tried to
copy his manners; and it was chiefly because Batley was a friend of
Gladwyne's that he had paid toll to him. For he had felt that whatever
the man he admired was willing to countenance must be the correct thing.
Now he saw Gladwyne as he really was--a betrayer of those who trusted
him, a counterfeit of an honorable type, one who had by the merest chance
escaped from crime.
In the second place, he was concerned about Bella. She had obviously been
attracted by Gladwyne, and it was his duty to warn her. Whether the
warning was altogether necessary he could not tell--he had watched her
face that morning--and Bella sometimes resented advice. When she did so,
she had an exasperating trick of putting him in the wrong; but he meant
to speak to her as plainly as appeared desirable. He had another duty--to
Lisle; but he was inclined to think that on the whole he had better not
saddle himself with it. His self-confidence had been rudely shaken and he
recognized the possibility of his making things worse. Moreover, he had
cultivated the pride of caste, and having with some difficulty obtained
an entry to the circle in which Gladwyne moved, he felt it incumbent on
him to guard the honor of all who belonged to it.
Presently Bella came out, as he had anticipated, and joined him.
"You have been very quiet since this morning," she began. "I saw that you
meant to slip away as soon as you could."
"Yes," he admitted; "I've had something to think about--I've been a fool,
Bella; the commonest, most easily gulled kind of imbecile!"
He had expected her to remind him that she had more than once tried to
convince him of this, but she failed to do so. Instead, she answered with
a touch of the candor that sometimes characterized her.
"You're not the only one."
This was satisfactory, for it suggested that she had been undeceived
about Gladwyne; but she had not finished.
"What did you see this morning?" she asked, and he felt that she was
speaking with keen anxiety.
"I'll tell you, but it must never go any farther. I hate to think of it!
But first of all, what makes you ask?"
She had already mentioned that she had been near when Gladwyne made his
attempt to come up with Lisle, but she had not explained that she had
seen hatred stamped in hideous plainness on his face.
"Never mind," she answered sharply. "Go on!"
"Well," said Jim, "I was standing right against the hedge, the only
person on that side, and I don't think Gladwyne saw me. Lisle's bay
fouled the top bar of the hurdle, but it held long enough to bring him
down in a heap. Gladwyne was then a length or two behind. He rode
straight at the broken hurdle, hands still--I can't get his look out of
my mind!"
"But perhaps he couldn't pull up," Bella defended him desperately, as if
she would not believe the truth she dreaded.
"There were other ways open. He could have gone at the hedge a yard or
two on one side; he could have spoiled the chestnut's take-off and made
him jump short. It might have brought him down--the hurdle was firm in
the ground--but that would have been better than riding over a fallen
man!"
"Are you sure he did nothing?"
"I wish I were not! The thing's horrible! Gladwyne must have seen that
he'd come down on Lisle or the struggling bay--he could have prevented
it--he didn't try."
Bella shivered. Her brother was right: it was almost beyond contemplation.
But that was only half of the matter.
"He must have had a reason," she argued harshly.
"Yes; one doesn't ride over a man in cold-blood for nothing. I think he
had some cause for being afraid of Lisle; several things I remember now
point to it. His chance came suddenly--nobody could have arranged it--he
only remembered that Lisle with his brains crushed out could do him no
harm."
The girl recognized that Jim had guessed correctly. When she had gone to
Lisle for help, he had allowed her to understand that he could compel
Gladwyne's compliance with his request, which was significant. Still,
convinced as she was, she would not openly acquiesce in her brother's
theory.
"Jim," she protested, "if he'd ridden at the hedge or made the chestnut
jump short, he might have broken his own neck. He must have realized
it--it would make him hesitate."
The lad laughed scornfully.
"It's quite possible, but is that any excuse? Would Nasmyth or Lisle or
Batley have shirked a risk that would mean the saving of the other
fellow? Supposing your idea's right--though it isn't--it only shows the
man as a disgusting coward."
There was no gainsaying this; and Bella was crushed and humiliated. She
had already seen Gladwyne's weakness, and after the choice she had been
compelled to make between him and her brother, she had tried to drive all
thought of him out of her mind. It had been difficult; he was fascinating
in many ways and she had set her heart upon his capture. Now she had done
with him; after the morning's revelation she shrank from him with
positive horror. Jim seemed to guess this.
"I'm sorry, Bella," he said gently. "But the fellow's impossible."
She laid her hand upon his arm.
"Jim," she replied, "we have both been mad, and I suppose we must pay for
it. I'll help you to get clear of Batley when the time comes, but you
must never have a deal of any kind with him again."
"That's promised; I've had my lesson. I think I'll ask Lisle to take me
with him when he goes back to Canada. He and Nasmyth are the only men
worth speaking of I've met for a long while. When Lisle first came here I
tried to patronize him."
Bella laughed, rather feebly, but she wanted to relieve the tension.
"It was like you. But we'll go in. This is our secret, Jim. Nobody would
believe you if you let fall a hint as to what really happened, and there
are many reasons why you shouldn't. I think you said nobody else could
have suspected?"
"Nasmyth hadn't come up when the chestnut reached the hurdles; he was the
nearest. Lisle was down with the horse upon him. He couldn't have seen
anything."
"Well," she decided, "perhaps that's fortunate. It isn't likely that
Gladwyne will get such an opportunity again, and at the worst he acted on
the spur of the moment."
The lad nodded. He had felt that silence would entail some responsibility,
but Bella accepted it without uneasiness. She seldom showed any hesitation
when she had decided on a course.
In the meanwhile, Gladwyne had spent a miserable day, alternating between
horror of himself and doubts about the future. Jim Crestwick's
description of the incident was correct--Gladwyne had ridden straight at
the broken hurdle, knowing what the consequences might be and
disregarding them. The next moment, however, the reaction had begun and
he was thankful that he had not committed a hideous crime. Indeed, the
knowledge that he had come so near to killing his opponent had left him
badly shaken. He wondered at his insensate action until he recollected
how he had once stood beside an opened cache in Canada, and then,
ignoring his manifest duty, had hurried on through the frozen wilderness.
On that occasion he had been accountable for his cousin's death, and now
Lisle had very narrowly escaped.
Yet he could with justice acquit himself of any premeditated intention in
either case; fate had thrust him into a situation he was not strong
enough to grapple with. Dreading Lisle, as he did, his chief thought had
been for his own safety when he saw the bay blunder at the leap. To save
the Canadian he must take a serious personal risk, which was foreign to
his nature, and though a recognition of the fact that the death of the
fallen man would be a great relief to him had been clearly in his mind,
it was impossible to say how far it had actuated him.
He had grown more collected when he sat in his library as dusk was
closing in, considering other aspects of the affair. He had not seen
Crestwick, and Lisle, he thought, would remember nothing except his fall.
After trying to recall the positions of the others, he felt comforted;
nobody could charge him with anything worse than reckless riding or a
failure of nerve at a critical moment. He would confess to the latter--it
was to some extent the truth--and show concern about Lisle's injury.
Awkward as it was, the incident could be smothered over; it was consoling
to remember that the people he lived among were addicted to treating
anything of an unpleasant nature as lightly as possible. There was a good
deal to be said for the sensible English custom of ignoring what it would
be disconcerting to realize.
After a while his mother came in and gently touched him.
"My dear," she urged, "you mustn't brood over it. Lisle's condition's
satisfactory. As it's some hours since we got Nasmyth's message, I sent a
man over and he has just come back."
"I'm glad you sent," Gladwyne responded. "It was thoughtful. I forgot;
but I've been badly troubled."
She sat down near him, with her hand laid caressingly on his arm.
"It's natural; I understand and feel for you. I wouldn't have liked you
to be indifferent; but you mustn't make too much of it. The man is
strong, he will soon be about again, and you couldn't have saved him.
Everybody I've seen so far has given me that impression. Of course, I
didn't need their assurances, but I was glad to see they exonerated and
sympathized with you."
Her confidence hurt him; he had still a sense of shame, and he found no
great comfort in what she told him. His mother was generally loved, and
he wondered how far his neighbors had been influenced by a desire to save
her pain.
"It looks as if Lisle deserves their commiseration more than I do," he
answered with a smile which cost him an effort.
"It is being shown. I noticed nearly everybody in the neighborhood
motoring or driving toward the house during the afternoon. Millicent's
with Nasmyth now, helping to arrange things. It's wonderful what a
favorite Lisle has become in so short a time; but I own that I find
something very likable about him."
Gladwyne moved impatiently. His hatred of the man was as strong as ever,
and his mother's attempts at consolation irritated him. Lisle was too
popular; first Bella and now Millicent had taken him in hand.
"Millicent," Mrs. Gladwyne went on, "is an exceptional woman in every
desirable respect. I think you have long been as convinced of that as I
am."
"I'm afraid she can't have an equally favorable opinion of me," he said
with a short laugh.
"One does not look for perfection in a man," his mother informed him
seriously. "He is criticized much less severely than a woman. It seems to
be the universal rule, though I have sometimes thought it wasn't
absolutely just and that it had its drawbacks. It's one of the things the
women who go out and speak are declaiming against and something one of
them lately said sticks in my mind." She sighed as she added: "The times
are changing; there was no need to consider such questions in your
father's case. He was the soul of honor--you were very young when death
parted us."
She did not always express herself clearly, but Gladwyne saw that she did
not place him in the same category as his father and he recognized her
half-formulated thought that it would have been better had he grown up
under the latter's firmer guidance.
"Wonders never cease, mother," he responded with an attempt at lightness.
"It's difficult to imagine your being influenced by the latest
propaganda. I thought you shuddered at it."
"Well," she said, "I was forgetting what I meant to talk about, drifting
away from the subject; I'm afraid it's a habit of mine. What I have long
felt is that it would be so desirable if you married suitably."
"The trouble is to define the suitability. It's a point upon which
everybody has a different opinion."
"I would choose a girl of good family and education for you, one with a
well-balanced will, who could see what was right and cling to it. Still,
she must be wise and gentle; a tactful, considerate guide; and though
means are not of first importance, they are not to be despised."
Gladwyne leaned back in his chair with a laugh that had in it a tinge of
irritation.
"Are such girls numerous? But why do you insist on a will and the power
of guiding? It looks as if you thought I needed it. Sometimes you're the
reverse of flattering."
His mother looked troubled; she would have wounded no living creature
unnecessarily.
"My dear, it's not always easy to express what one feels, and I dare say
I'm injudicious in choosing my words. But your welfare is very near to my
heart."
"I know that," he answered gently. "But you were not describing an
imaginary paragon. Hadn't you Millicent in your mind?"
"I should be very happy if I could welcome her as my daughter. I should
feel that you were safe then."
There was a thrill of regret in her voice that touched him. It hinted
that she blamed herself for omissions and lack of wisdom in his
upbringing. Besides, her confidence in any one who had won her respect,
as Millicent had done, was bestowed so generously.
"I'm afraid I've often given you trouble, and I do you little credit
now," he said. "But, as to the other matter, one can't be sure that
Millicent would welcome the idea. Of late I've had a suspicion that she
hasn't a very high opinion of me."
"You could hardly expect to gain it by devoting yourself to Miss
Crestwick."
The man smiled rather grimly.
"If it's any consolation to you, I'm inclined to think that Miss
Crestwick has let me drop. The truth's not very flattering, but I can't
hide it."
Mrs. Gladwyne's relief was obvious, but she had more to say and she
ventured upon it with some courage.
"If you would only get rid of Batley too!"
"I can hardly do that just now; he's useful in several ways. Still, of
course, if I married--"
He broke off abruptly, for his mother had occasional flashes of
discernment.
"Millicent has means," she said.
He started at this, wondering how much she had guessed, but he veiled his
embarrassment with a smile.
"Well," he acknowledged, "means, as you most wisely remarked, are not to
be despised, and mine are unfortunately small."
She saw that she had said enough and she left him sitting in the
darkening room thinking rather hard. Bella had thrown him over when he
had refused to help her brother, and there were many ways in which
Millicent appealed to him. Besides, she could free him of his debt to
Batley, which was a thing greatly to be desired. She had shown that she
did not blame him severely for the accident at the hurdles, but he
realized that in trying to comfort him she had been prompted by pity for
his dejected mood, and it was clear that the part he had played was
scarcely likely to raise him in her esteem. This was unfortunate, but he
would not dwell on it; there were other points to consider and anything
that served to divert his thoughts from the unfortunate affair was a vast
relief.
When at last he rose he had partly recovered his usual equanimity and had
decided that he would watch for some sign of Millicent's feelings toward
him. He was aware that they had somewhat changed, but this was to a large
extent his fault, and with caution and patience he thought it might be
possible to reinstate himself in her favor.